


On the Guarded Plain

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Forgiveness, Incredibly Bad Timing, Kissing, M/M, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: At the end of the War of Wrath, Eonwë captures Mairon, who he still loves.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BloodEarthAndInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEarthAndInk/gifts).



He came forth willingly at the end in the deep places of Angband, fair features expressionless and blank as if he had been carved from stone. Sparing not even a glance for his fallen Lord and Master, Mairon came to me, presenting his hands before him to show he held no weapon, the fire in his eyes banked and low. 

His mind was a guarded plain at night, full of shadow and things that lurk unseen. I pressed forward into that guarded plain, that valley of night, endeavouring to raise a Lamp and show his thoughts in light. 

"Not now," he said to me, inside my mind. "Not here." 

I was the one to glance at Melkor then, and his face was fierce with fallen rage and pain. He was bound, body and spirit, weakened but not broken. In truth, he was much less than I expected, having poured so much of himself out into the land as poison, the breaking, broken country that groaned beneath our feet as if in weariness unto death. It was not long to last, and for the sake of the Elves and Men under my command, I could not wait. 

I myself took the Silmarils from his crown, and held them close, those Jewels of vanished Light, that echo of the Flame Imperishable that we all serve. And I commanded his crown be beaten into a collar for his throat, and all was done as I ordered it. When my own Lord came for him, there bound beyond time and reason, to himself cast his brother into the Void, I, and Mairon with me, were already gone. 

A summons I sent forth to all those of the Eldar in Beleriand, that they should now come to Valinor, that the Doom of the Noldor was now lifted and all forgiven. 

The Silmarils I placed in a casket of gold, and ordered them guarded night and day. For though Melkor was now gone, and Mairon by my side, silent and still, there were still those abroad who might desire to take the Jewels, and indeed I had received a demand from Maedhros and Maglor for them, which I refused. I had hope that the Trees, silent and dark unshining, might yet be lit again, if I could deliver the Silmarils to Valinor, if Fëanor now was willing. 

Marion I kept with me in my own tent, bound hand and foot, as we travelled through the blasted desert, the scarred lands, barren and broken, down the river valleys to the ghost of the Havens of Sirion. For a long time he spoke no word to me, and his mind was shielded from mine. Only his eyes spoke, and in them I could see deep regret and yearning, a pain that ran too deep for words. 

On a night without a moon he spoke at last, his mind a whisper inside mine. "Untie me, please," he said, and in his voice was an echo of the Mairon I once knew - so long ago - and loved so deeply. 

I came to him, my hand gentle on his face, and spoke back in the same way, "Let me see you." Without another word he opened his mind to mine. 

We stood together on the guarded plain I'd seen before, and slowly he allowed it to change from night to morn. The shadows crept about the hills and then vanished altogether. Dark things stood exposed - fell wolves and vampire bats, strange experiments where Elves and Men lay bleeding and broken and yet did not die, shambling corpses that rose from their right graves and walked the earth once more. Mairon was no longer the pretty smith of Aulë I once loved: he was Sauron, the Abhorred, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the murderer of so many innocents that their blood could have filled the seas, the right hand of the Dark One himself. 

All this I knew, and yet he looked up at me, his face still fair, his eyes yearning, pleading, full of regret. His words came halting and slow, burdened with a great weariness. "Had I known then what I know now," he said to me, "I would never have gone with him. I would that I had stayed with you. I repent it all, I regret it all, and I will take what punishment you offer, if only I may return to your favour once more." 

Already I was untying his feet and hands. I could not resist him. Before the World began I had been drawn to his light, and as equals we had loved each other, and come into Eä for one another's sake. Though we served different masters - as well we should, that we were lovers did not mean that we were the same in skills or desires - we had always been for one another, until he was seduced away. 

"I will take what punishment you offer -- " he began once more as I slipped the last knot, but I pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shh, speak not of punishment for the moment," I said. "I only wish to hold you once more." I took him in my arms, in body and mind, and kissed his mouth. He opened under me, eager, warm, and for a moment there was nothing in my mind but joy. My fingers slid through his hair, just as bright and soft as I remembered it, twining a golden curl about my hand. 

Yet I had a duty, and even love could not gainsay it. I drew back just a little, still holding him in my arms. 

"I cannot punish you," I said. "Nor can I pardon you. You must come with me to Valinor and there receive judgement from Manwë. I will stand by your side, I will speak to your regret, for I have felt it, and when your sentence is done, you and I shall dwell together as we used to, and you shall have all the peace that you desire." My heart was full of the desire for peace, after long years of war, to come home and find there my beloved one, my Mairon, my heart's equal. 

A faint, unfathomable look of pain and distress began to rise on Mairon's face, but before I could react to it, I heard shouts, and snapped back to the waking world, letting go of Mairon and turning away to see what was happening. 

"My Lord," Ingwion said, throwing aside the curtains of the tent and entering swiftly, head half-bowed, "the Fëanorians have come for the Jewels...!" 

I cast my mind out, searching for them, rabid wolves worrying at the flock, desperate and hungry. There was no gainsaying or preventing them; they would slice through a thousand of my Vanyar if need be, to get the Silmarils. They would fight even me, if I stood against them. 

"No more death!" I snapped, voice breaking with emotion. Ingwion, startled by the passion in my voice, glanced at me, confused. "No more death! Let them go, do not fight, do not pursue them." Ingwion turned to leave the tent, and I followed, almost stumbling as if drunk. Mairon stood swaying where I left him, his mind a dizzying eddy of sorrow and distress that I could only just feel the edges of, beyond my own confused need and hope and fear. 

Maedhros was a fierce red light, already almost burning. His fate was set and very near now, and I could not hold it back. Maglor was a blue flame, flickering, his voice raised in Song. The guards about the tent that held the Silmarils lay limp and quiet, asleep or dead I was not sure, and the two Fëanorians fled, unchallenged, into the night. "Do not pursue them," I said again, and went to check the guards. Mairon, for the moment, was not in my mind at all. 

When I returned to my tent a moment later, it was very still and silent. The flame of the lamps flickered as I parted the curtains. 

No one was inside.


End file.
